


Some Nights

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I think that guy upstairs that you have a crush on just got dumped,” Eddie says over his shoulder when Mike lets himself in through the kitchen door.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30
Collections: Clowntown Kink Meme 2021





	Some Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [clowntown2021](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/clowntown2021) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Inspired by a post by tumblr user dare-i-say-asexual, in which OP's neighbor manages to summon a concerned lesbian by playing Dolly Parton's Jolene and crying over being cheated on.  
> AU in which Bill and Mike are neighbors, and Mike is "summoned" by the sounds of his neighbor Bill trying to get over his heartache while Jolene (or any song you deem appropriate) plays in the background. It is possible that they don't know each other yet, but that's entirely up to you.  
> Have fun!

“I think that guy upstairs that you have a crush on just got dumped,” Eddie says over his shoulder when Mike lets himself in through the kitchen door.

“Uh,” Mike says intelligently, caught halfway through hanging his backpack up.

The kitchen smells like sugar and vanilla, and there are three racks of cookies already spread across the counter. Eddie is leaning down to peer in the oven, which is probably a good thing because Mike had no idea what his face is doing but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want a witness for it. His Preservation of Digital Assets seminar ran late, and his brain is still halfway enmeshed in the digitization project he’s putting together for his internship at a tiny local theater that specializes in reel-to-reel vintage horror films. He is _not_ in the headspace to take in new information, but Eddie, of course, has never given much of a fuck about things like that.

As a roommate, he’s great. Clean, punctual with the rent, antisocial enough that Mike doesn’t have to worry about surprise house parties erupting in his living room. As a friend—well. Mike loves him, but he has all the emotional sensitivity of a brick wall.

“You’re going to run out of counter space pretty soon, I think,” he says, hooking his backpack behind the door. “What do you mean, you think he got dumped—I mean. I don’t know who you’re talking about?”

Eddie does turn at that, just enough to roll his eyes extravagantly.

“6B? Short, nice shoulders, blue eyes? Dating some fuckboy in the theater department? Yeah, they were screaming at each other earlier, and he’s been out on his balcony blasting The Cure and chain-smoking all afternoon. I would have said something, but he seemed like he was going through some shit.”

All of this is delivered rapid-fire as Eddie turns back to pull on his gingham oven mitts and pull the oven open.

“Anyway,” he adds as he maneuvers the tray onto the last remaining rack, “this is the last batch, and I’m bringing some over to Richie for his sister. You should go talk to him.”

“You really think so?” Mike asks. He shifts on his feet. “Maybe he wants to be alone.”

“So he’ll tell you to fuck off, and you can come back down here and watch _The Bachelor_ and eat fresh cookies, which seems like a pretty sweet deal, I’m just saying. What if he doesn’t?”

And, well. That’s the thing. Because the guy in 6B—Bill, his name is Bill, and he does have blue eyes and very nice shoulders, and also a nice smile and a bit of a stutter, which Mike knows because they catch the bus at the same time a couple of days a week—he’s always been sort of pleasantly unattainable. Mike didn’t have to worry about making a move and getting rejected, because Bill already had a boyfriend.

Except, not anymore. Apparently.

“Get the fuck out of here, go talk to him,” Eddie says, and Mike takes a deep breath and goes.

The balconies on the back of the building, which overlook an uninspiring view of the parking lot and the abandoned construction zone on the other side of the chain-link fence, are connected by the outside stairs. Mike and Eddie are in 4B, which puts Bill’s apartment two floors above them, but Mike can hear the tinny strains of _Lovesong_ coming through shitty phone speakers as soon as he steps out the back door.

He trudges up the stairs and pauses at the landing outside of Bill’s apartment. Bill is sitting on the broad railing, one foot tucked up under him, a cigarette dangling from his hand as he stares out into the sunset.

Mike clears his throat, then knocks lightly on the brick wall. “Hey. You okay?”

“S-sorry,” Bill says, and fumbles with his phone, nearly dropping it onto the pavement six floors below before he manages to turn the music off. “Was it t-too loud?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Bill says again. He swipes at his face; even in the dim porch light, it’s obvious that he’s been crying. Mike feels his stomach sink.

“It’s fine,” he says again, more emphatically. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry.”

“It’s just, uh. My roommate said he heard you having a fight—?”

“Ah, fuck.” Bill knocks his head back against the wall. “Y-yeah, sorry about that. Won’t happen again. My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend,” he corrects, bitterly. “He won’t be around anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike says, and finds that he means it.

“I’m not,” Bill says miserably. “T-turns out he was fucking like three other people behind m-my back, so.”

“Fuck him,” Mike says vehemently. “What an asshole.”

“Yeah.” Bill glances at him. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Mike says. Bill starts to open his mouth, and he continues, hurriedly, “Look, my roommate is on a baking spree, he made like six batches of cookies and we’ll never be able to eat them all ourselves, do you—do you want to come down to our place? Maybe watch a movie or something?” It comes out sounding more like a date than he really meant it to, and he hurries to add, “I just, you know, I’ve had some bad breakups in my time. Might be nice not to be alone, is all.”

He stops, wincing, before he can make it worse. Bill is surveying him thoughtfully. Finally, he stubs out his cigarette and slides off the railing. “You sure? Y-your roommate won’t mind?”

“He won’t mind. He’s going over to see his boyfriend tonight anyway, so.” _So it would just be you and me._ God. He really is terrible at this. “Just as friends?”

That’s not better.

Bill is smiling at him, though. It’s wavery and a little weak, but it is a smile. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

* * *

Of course, when they get back downstairs, Richie is hanging out in the kitchen, stuffing his face with cookies and heckling Eddie while he cleans up. Mike pauses inside the doorway, Bill just behind him, and sighs.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Richie. He does. It’s just that Richie has the emotional delicacy of an Adult Swim cartoon. It makes him a surprisingly good match for Eddie’s particular brand of caustic neurosis, but Mike isn’t sure it’s quite the vibe he’s going for right now.

“This is Bill, huh?” he says, peering past Mike.

“Yeah,” Mike says warily. “Bill, you’ve met Eddie, I think. This is his boyfriend, Richie.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bill says, holding out a hand. “S-sorry. Hope I’m not crashing your night.”

Richie wipes cookie crumbs on his jeans, shakes Bill’s hand, then lets go and grins at Mike in a way that’s entirely too knowing. “We’re just on our way out, actually. Beer’s in the fridge, condoms in the—”

“Shut the fuck up, sweetheart,” Eddie says mildly, wiping his hands on the dishtowel. “You ready to go?”

“Ready, Eddie,” Richie says, and tips a grin at Bill and Mike before shrugging his jacket on and following Eddie out the door, Tupperware container of cookies in hand. A minute later, they’re gone, leaving an echoing silence in their wake.

“Huh,” Bill says finally. His mouth is twitching like he’s trying not to laugh, which is, okay, better than the alternatives. Better than that miserable look he was wearing up on the balcony, anyway. And he hasn’t fled out into the night yet, so that’s a point in Mike’s favor.

Mike rubs the back of his neck, mortified. “Uh. Sorry about that. We can—I have Netflix? Or there’s Mario Kart, if you want. I’m terrible at it, so you could totally kick my ass.”

“I suck at it too,” Bill says, but there’s a hopeful smile starting to spread across his face. “Yeah. I mean, are you sure? I r-really don’t want to put you out, or anything.”

“You’re not putting me out. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it,” Mike says. It comes out entirely too sincere, but Bill’s smile doesn’t waver.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Mario Kart sounds great. Let’s play.”


End file.
